


new alderaan in the fall

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: F/M, Illnesses, Light Angst, Pining, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Ransolm Has Space Consumption, That's In The Spirit Of The Regency Yes?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Though she shouldn’t, she reaches for him and almost flinches back. His hands are like ice and he seems to sense it, smiling wryly at her. But he takes her hand, which is the important thing, and she can only hope he derives comfort from it.





	new alderaan in the fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittersnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/gifts).



Leia finds him in the medbay. He’s there more and more often as time passes, a fact that worries Leia nearly as much as the First Order’s next step does. It sits uncomfortably on her shoulders, that worry. And yet, she hadn’t even concerned herself much with what Han was up to most of the time and look where that had gotten her. Perhaps she should have worried more. The thought of Han still sends a vibroshiv right between her ribs, would stagger her if she let it.

She does not let it.

Instead, she focuses on what is in front of her, which is a war and an increasingly ill… something.

Someone.

A bout of coughing has him nearly bent in two as he leans forward in his chair. A med droid hovers over him taking scans and tutting every few seconds. It notices her first, servos whirring as it straightens and turns toward her. “Ah, General Organa,” it says, vocoder calm and soothing, just as its manufacturers intended. “Welcome.”

That only makes Ransolm cough harder. He looks up at her and overs a weak, distracted wave, as though to say, _just one moment while I spit my lungs onto the floor before us, not to worry_. His face reddens more and though Leia might wish that was due to something else entirely—her own cheeks feel rather warm, in fact, just as they always do when she seeks him out.

And she seeks him out a lot more than she used to.

“Good morning, Leia.” His voice is raspy when he finally speaks, ragged with the exertion of talking. Though she tries to reach for the glass of water that stands on a nearby tray, the droid is faster, offering it with the cool professionalism that Leia envied. He smiles softly at her before taking a sip. She doesn’t remind herself that he’s the only one who calls her Leia and how much she likes that fact and the sound of her name coming out of his mouth. “How are you?”

“Better than you,” she replies, pulling a chair from around the other side of the bed he refuses to sit on when he has to come here. Instead, he chooses to sit in one of the unforgivably uncomfortable plastoid chairs for guests and visitors. That, in his mind, is winning, she guesses. Considering the results of the games he’s played in the past, she supposes she can’t blame him for taking what little control he can.

He shrugs. “It’s a little humid today,” is all he says, like that fully explains the sallowness of his skin, the dark smudges under his eyes, the way he’ll sometimes find himself winded with little exertion. He seems so much older than he used to and not just physically. His presence in the Force is wearied to say the least. D’Qar has not been a friend to Ransolm Casterfo. “You’re looking well.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” He coughs again, but this time they don’t rack his slight—and growing slighter, Leia can’t help but notice—frame. She knows he’s had to take his robes down to the quartermaster to be tailored anew. And yet today, they seem even more loose-fitting than normal. It is, she hopes, just her imagination and seeing him here. Medbays have a tendency to diminish everyone. “But I don’t suppose you came down here just to hear me flatter you.” His eyebrows draw together. “Is there something wrong?”

That’s not what they’re about.

That’s not who she wants them to be. She already has plenty of people who work for her. She has few colleagues. She has even fewer confidants.

People she might love the way she’d loved Han…

That is a very exclusive list and one she cannot contemplate without fear seizing hold of her. Loss comes with the territory, but this one thing? She wants to keep it. And though she’s fought for everything that has been taken from her, she doesn’t want this one to fall victim to her defeats, too.

The droid is good. She almost doesn’t notice it trundle on to complete its business elsewhere.

“I can’t come visit you?” she asks, well aware that she’s done so in the past and that she will continue to do so in the future. He just, for whatever reason, likes to believe Leia might show up for reasons other than his own well-being. She’s not certain why. She laces her fingers together and rests her chin on them, her elbows braced against the armrests of the chair.

“You’re a busy woman. I just wouldn’t want to presume upon your time.” Frowning, he looks away. There’s a particularly interesting spot for him in the far corner of the room. Of course, when Leia looks, she sees nothing of note. She decides to avoid pointing that fact out to him. He can have one of his illusions if he’s so desperate for it. She can’t do much for the coughs or the lingering weakness, but she can do this.

“You’re not an imposition, Ransolm.”

He laughs and it’s not the bitter thing she’s grown so used to hearing. It’s like he used to be, sparking and clear and so perfect it squeezes Leia’s heart in her chest. He reminds her of better times and she doesn’t just mean back when they were both senators and the worst thing that plagued them was the pointless bickering during legislative sessions. “That’s a relief.”

Though she shouldn’t, she reaches for him and almost flinches back. His hands are like ice and he seems to sense it, smiling wryly at her. But he takes her hand, which is the important thing, and she can only hope he derives comfort from it.

There is so much she’d like to say that she can’t bring herself to speak. Once said, they couldn’t be taken back, and she didn’t want to alienate him. Theirs is still a tentative relationship. She might have saved him from a Riosan prison, but she couldn’t save him from the distance that spanned between them, from the sickness that had grabbed hold of him in that prison and still wouldn’t let go. Even with all of the medical technology at their disposal, it would not let go.

She knows the feeling.

She never would have thought she’d have missed her days as a princess, both part of the Rebellion’s chain of command and not at the same time. It gave her a freedom she no longer has. Now, she has no time to share her feelings, to ask for more. The loneliness she experiences gets shoved to the back of her mind, her desires, even further back than that. It would be selfish to tell Ransolm how she feels.

That thought is the only thing that stops her from giving voice to the words now. _I love you. Take the damned humiditreatment you hate so much. Rest, you foolish, foolish man._

“Where do you see yourself after this is over?” he asks, turning her hand over in his, inspecting it. It doesn’t look like a royal hand anymore. Scarred, dry, it tells the years as much as the rest of her does. She cannot bring herself to be embarrassed about it.

He’s just as scarred up as she is.

And besides, she’s proud of the work her hands have done for her over the years. They’ve earned whatever ugliness they now possess. Of course, when she looks at Ransolm, she sees nothing but admiration for her in his eyes.

It would be so easy to…

His gaze flicks over to hers, catching her at her most vulnerable if the widening of his eyes is anything to go by. His lips purse together before he indulges in an old, bad habit and bites them. “Leia, I—”

She smiles and it’s a sad smile. They can’t do this now and they can’t do it here and there’s nothing she wants more in the galaxy than to push both of those thoughts out of an airlock. It’s enough to know that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same. “I see myself settling down on New Alderaan,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. Squeezing his hand one last time, she pulls free of his touch, already hating the loss of it. “When this is done.”

“Alone?” he asks. There is an ache in his voice that Leia can only sympathize with.

“No.” She shakes her head. She can give them both this much and in such a way that he can disregard it if she is misreading the situation. “I certainly hope not, Ransolm.”

He seems to understand anyway. “I hear New Alderaan is lovely in the fall.”

Leia nods. “Might do that cough of yours a bit of good in the summer months, too. I’ll have to show you when we find the time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” His eyes cut to the door. “I’m sure you’re very busy and I don’t want to keep you. I promise I’ll be along shortly to assist.”

She cannot resist brushing her hands across the soft woven wool of his robe, lighter weight than he used to wear in deference to the climes of D’Qar. If her fingers skirt across the stretch of skin about the back of his neck, neither of them mention it. “Take your time. We’ll still be there when you’re ready.”

Ransolm nods, ducking his head.

For the first time in months, she feels a little bit better, a little bit more hopeful about the future.

She can only hope Ransolm feels the same.


End file.
